Missing the Ground
by The Third Murderer
Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange catches Harry in the park, and the consequences of what she does to him are enormous. Severus Snape finds himself in a position to alleviate them.
1. Default Chapter

Missing the Ground 

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_, its concepts and its characters, etc. etc. all belong to JK Rowling. Duh. Just borrowing. 

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Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange catches Harry in the park, and the consequences of what she does to him are enormous. Severus Snape finds himself in a position to alleviate them. 

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Warnings/Notes: R rating. Rape warning. NO SLASH. Bella/Voldemort implied.

This first chapter seems a little disconnected, even to me, but I refuse to be graphic at this point. I doubt I ever will be.

This is unbetad and still in its infancy. I'd greatly appreciate any critical reviews. Help me make it better!

Ever read _Life, the Universe and Everything_ by Douglas Adams? The trick to flying, apparently, is to fall and miss the ground.

-Part 1-

"You had him, Bellatrix, and you let him go? You had him beyond the wards, AND YOU _RELEASED _HIM?" What had started as a hiss ended with a roar as Voldemort grabbed Bellatrix Lestrange by the throat and flung her away from him. She hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thud and rolled quickly to her knees.

"My Lord," she pleaded, "My most precious Lord! We had to flee! He broke through Imperius and screamed for help. We could not stay."

"A boy's screaming sent you running like cowards?" Voldemort demanded, grabbing her chin and tilting her head up roughly. "Unless it was Dumbledore himself coming to aid the boy, there is no excuse. Even then, there is no excuse! My Death Eaters running LIKE COWARDS! THERE IS NO EXCUSE!" His backhanded slap sent her to the floor again, where she lay curled into herself like a child.

"I tr-tried to apparate my little Potter away, my Lord," she sobbed. "I thought I had him. In my hands, still under me! HAD him! Didn't _release_ him. Something pulled my little toy away." 

He watched her sniffling petulantly, as if she had indeed lost a precious toy. The two men who'd been with her lay dead beside her, faces frozen in one last plea for mercy. If she weren't so useful- so cruel- he thought, he'd have killed her as well. But Bellatrix entertained him. And Potter, apparently, had entertained her. 

"What do you mean, still under you?" the Dark Lord asked, kneeling down beside her. She cringed, trying to make herself smaller, until he ran a bony hand along her thigh. She relaxed, then, uncurling like some black flower, shuddering under his touch.

"Under me," she repeated. "In me. So soft, my little Potter. So delicate. So innocent." She giggled, running her own fingers alongside his. "My baby wee Potter." The gaze she fixed him with then was so steady and intense that he almost thought her sane again. "And now I'll have a baby wee Potter of my own."

His hand stopped its wandering, gripping the flesh of her inner thigh in surprise. She inhaled sharply, but her gaze never left him. _A witch always knows,_ he thought. _From the first moment, a witch always knows._

Bellatrix Lestrange was pregnant.

- - - - 

Harry Potter was in the shower. The water had run cold ten minutes ago, and he stood shivering as it poured onto his face and ran in icy rivulets down his chest. He had long since stopped trying to scrub himself clean. He knew it wouldn't help. 

His eyes felt raw, and the chlorine in the water had begun to make them sting. He wanted so badly to close them, but every time he did, he saw her. Saw Bellatrix.

And he felt her.

What disgusted him more than anything else, more than the helplessness and the rage and the pain he'd felt, was that on some sick level, he'd _enjoyed_ it. His damned teenage body had betrayed him, and he'd enjoyed it. And she'd known.

His body raw and aching, his teeth chattering, Harry finally turned the water off. He wrapped his threadbare towel around his waist and slunk into his room, glad that the Dursleys were out for the day. They never would have let him stay in the shower that long. 

Some logical part of his mind told him he ought to write to Dumbledore immediately, that he ought to say Dung Fletcher had abandoned his post again and he'd taken the chance to go walk in the park. He ought to mention that the headmaster's wards against Dark spells left something to be desired, but the anti-apparition wards worked well enough. Well enough.

Harry didn't want Mundungus to get in trouble. He'd been the one to suggest Dung take off, after all. 'The wards are strong, aren't they?' he'd said. And he wasn't going to go anywhere. Honestly.

That Mundungus was still responsible for his actions crossed Harry's mind only briefly as he layered Dudley's old t-shirts over a new one from Tonks and wrapped himself in his thin bedsheets. It was hot outside, but he was freezing, a feeling remarkably like that brought on by Dementors. He suspected he might never get warm.

He'd done it again, he knew. He'd taken off when he shouldn't have, without thinking, and he'd caused himself trouble. Only this time it wasn't Sirius who'd paid, nor any of his friends. This time only Harry had suffered.

He finally understood why Severus Snape thought him an arrogant fool. 

Harry curled up on his bed, his back against the wall and his chin resting on his knees. He stared out the window, watching the sun set. He heard the Dursleys return, thought he heard the sound of Alastor Moody's wooden leg clunking along the concrete outside.

He'd never tell anyone, he thought. Never. Even if Bellatrix threw it in his face, if the Dark Lord taunted him in his head, Harry knew he'd never tell anyone what had happened that day. Nobody had gotten hurt but him; there was no reason to make the Order worry. All he needed to do was stay put, and he'd be safe. No need to say the wards were faulty. They still worked well enough at the house itself, or the Death Eaters would have come back by now and whisked him away.

No need for anyone to know.

No need at all.

* * *


	2. Part 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I wondered how much interest there would be in this story... Any criticism? Come on, somebody has to have some...

Ever read _Life, the Universe and Everything_ by Douglas Adams? The trick to flying, apparently, is to fall and miss the ground.

Part 2

Harry didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up screaming, his arms flailing at some unseen opponent. For a brief moment he was trapped in the summer after his fourth year, waiting with barely suppressed fear for his uncle to come pounding down the hall, demanding that he shut up. Then he remembered that his relatives couldn't hear him anymore; they hadn't been able to since he'd asked Dumbledore to have Remus cast a silencing charm around his room. Harry's nightmares about Sirius still came, a month after his godfather had fallen through the veil... but this had been a new dream.

And he knew it would be a frequent one.

Looking at the clock, Harry saw that he'd actually managed to sleep through the night. He imagined it was because of sheer exhaustion. His back was sore, and there was a crick in his neck, not to mention the cuts and bruises he'd received from Bellatrix and her companions. Harry got up carefully, unsteadily. Still wrapped in his bedsheets, he shuffled to his desk, ignoring the feeling of the sweat-damp t-shirts plastered to his back. Apparently getting warm again hadn't been all that difficult.

It was another letter-writing day. Ever since Moody, Tonks and Remus had threatened the Dursleys at King's Cross Station, Harry's relatives had been positively bearable. Harry's only chore this summer had been to write a letter to one of his friends, or to a member of the Order of the Phoenix, reassuring them that he was being well-treated. Of course, he had never considered it a chore, until now. Even with Sirius' death hanging over his head, he'd never begrudged anyone a letter, since the ones he got in reply were short the usual platitudes. Instead, they were full of acceptance and honest conversation. Ron and Hermione in particular had been exceptionally supportive, especially considering that he'd almost gotten them killed. 

But suddenly even a terse, angry letter, such as those he'd sent out the first few times, seemed too much work. Harry sat on the old stool that passed as his desk chair and pulled out his writing supplies, convincing himself that a letter was necessary. He dipped a quill in the inkwell and held it poised over the cream parchment. His hand hung there, ink dripping, as he struggled over what to write. 

'Dear' was a good place to start. He wrote that, and stopped. Dear who? Remus, Ron, Hermione, Moody, Tonks... Who had he written to last? He thought it was Ron, probably. Maybe Ginny wanted to hear from him. She wouldn't. He didn't think he had the presence of mind to fake a happy letter to her.

'Remus,' he wrote finally, wishing he could smile at the vague recollection of the werewolf's first letter this summer: 'You can call me Remus if you like, Harry. Every time someone calls me "Professor," I feel this uncontrollable urge to slap Severus.' Remus, it had come out, actually _could_ hold a grudge; it was simply that he was quite reserved about such things. Regardless of what others thought, Harry knew the werewolf had not forgiven Snape for making him lose his Defense Against the Dark Arts position.

'Dear Remus,' the letter said, and that was all.

Harry always asked after people's health, so that was probably a good start. He ought to say he was doing alright, as well. He could mention that he was still having nightmares; then there'd be some truth to the letter, at least. After much deliberation and scratching out, the ink-spotted letter read.

_Dear Remus,_

How is everyone? I hope things are going well with your work. I'm still having a few nightmares, but otherwise everything is alright. The Dursleys are ignoring me as usual, but the new gardener seems nice. Maybe you've seen her. Aunt Petunia got someone to do the house chores, too, except for cleaning my room, of course. I guess you know about them both from coming by, though.

Sincerely, Harry

He read it over several times, supposing it sounded like his other letters, but not really sure. It was vague enough about Order business, at least. He pulled out a new sheet of parchment and neatly recopied his short missive. He let it dry before rolling it up and tying it to Hedwig's leg. As he watched his owl take off, Harry wondered how long it would take him to accept what had happened. He still had trouble thinking about Cedric, even after a year had passed, but this somehow seemed much worse...

- - - -

Remus wrote back on Harry's birthday, so that the young wizard had a friendly but sarcastic warning about one of the many letters and packages that arrived just after midnight. Apparently Dumbledore had some unpleasant news for him. Harry noted that Remus seemed to have grown a bit bitter in the past month.

He toyed with the idea of opening the headmaster's letter last, but a sense of resignation and morbid curiosity overrode the thought. He'd probably need everyone else's letters and presents to cheer him up after he read what Dumbledore had to say. If getting cheered up was possible.

Over the past few days, Harry had tried to take his encounter with Bellatrix in stride, but it was becoming painfully obvious that, like the events of the Third Task, this was not going to leave him alone. With a vague sort of disappointment, he realized he would need to control himself, particularly his anger, much better than he had last year. Sirius' death, after all, could not explain why he no longer looked anyone in the eye, or why he avoided human contact like the plague. Just being near his aunt and uncle made Harry's skin crawl, and he flinched every time one of his relatives raised a hand. He'd stopped talking to the gardener and maid as well, and Uncle Vernon made no attempt to dispel the women's belief that his nephew had left town. 

Digging Dumbledore's letter out of the small pile on his bed, Harry carefully tore it open, feeling the protective wards on it dissipate, and unfolded the parchment inside. By the time he'd finished reading it, his hands shook.

_Dear Harry,_

I trust your summer is going well. From what I understand, your relatives are treating you exceptionally well, and I am glad to hear this. I have what may come as unwelcome news, but I am afraid it is quite necessary. You will not be able to leave Privet Drive until school begins. I am convinced this is safest for everyone, as you are still lacking in the skill of Occlumency. To remedy this, you will resume your lessons with Professor Snape immediately upon your return to Hogwarts. Take care Harry, and remember not to go beyond the confines of the wards. 

Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore

'Exceptionally well?' a small part of Harry's mind echoed even as the rest of him demanded a deep, dark hole to hide in. Snape was going to teach him Occlumency again. 

Snape was going to find out.

* * *


	3. Part 3

A/N and Warning: Wow. The muse lives. I wasn't planning on this whole "relive the rape" scene until much later, but the muse was quite insistent. Again, I refuse to be graphic, and so does it, I think. I also think it wants a name. I will call it Brasidas. I bet that'll wind it up real good. Anyway, consider this your -Mature Themes- warning.

Ever read _Life, the Universe and Everything_ by Douglas Adams? The trick to flying, apparently, is to fall and miss the ground.

Part 3

He had never had a panic attack before, Harry reflected once he'd stopped struggling for breath. It was a new experience, to be sure, and not one he wanted to repeat. To that end, he tried very hard not to think about Snape and Occlumency, but it was vain effort at best. After two more episodes that left even Hedwig rather disconcerted, Harry resorted to wrapping himself in his bedsheets again.

Huddled in a corner of his room and feeling increasingly warm despite the night air, Harry was finally able to calm down enough to consider things rationally. The problem was that Snape, in his "efforts" to teach Harry Occlumency, would pry into the young wizard's mind and discover exactly the thing Harry wished to keep most secret, and Harry would have no defense. The solution, of course, was to _develop_ a defense, but Harry had no idea how to do this.

Hermione might, he thought reflexively, then realized that he was probably right. Hermione, if she did not hold all the answers, at least knew where they could be found. Harry would have to ask her to send him some books on Occlumency.

He nearly groaned at the prospect of writing another letter, but it was a letter day again anyway, and he had to thank everyone for his presents. He might as well send the "everything's-lovely" letter to Hermione and take care of as much in one shot as he could.

It was growing light outside by the time Harry finished his writing session. As much as he wanted to go to bed, however, he knew he'd only wake up screaming and set the whole house in an uproar; Remus' silencing charm, at Dumbledore's 'suggestion,' was only active during the night. Both the maid _and_ the gardener were coming today, and Harry had no desire to attract their attention, much less his aunt or uncle's. After sending Hedwig out the window with her burden, he glanced around his room. Dudley still insisted on using it to store his broken or unwanted possessions, and this included a large variety of books. Harry rooted around until he found one of his cousin's numerous yet unloved history books, and spent a good part of the day hiding in Ancient Greece_._

- - - -

That night brought the summer's first Voldemort-induced dream. Harry had barely drifted off before finding himself in the park where Bellatrix had caught him. It was empty, as it had been that day, everyone at work or on some exciting vacation. Harry was helpless as he felt himself propelled along the same path he'd walked then; he watched the copse of trees he'd been ambushed from grow closer, unable to stop or even turn his head.

'Wasn't it fun, Potter?' the Dark Lord's cold voice hissed in his head as Bellatrix and two other Death Eaters sprung out of the trees and fell upon him. Harry tried to struggle, as he had that day, but found he could not. Then the familiar floating feeling of Imperius overtook him, and no matter how he fought, he could not shake it. Powerless as a puppet, he felt himself pulling off his trousers even as Bellatrix undid her robes. The two men at his back laughed as his godfather's killer grabbed his chin and pulled him close.

Harry threw all his effort into freeing himself from the Imperius curse, but as the nightmare continued, he realized it wasn't Imperius holding him at all, but the Dark Lord's mind. Not only that, but things had progressed far beyond what had actually happened; the young wizard was horrified to find that it was Voldemort above him now instead of Bellatrix, and the twisted not-man inflicted a different and more degrading kind of pain. Harry managed to close his eyes and tried to separate himself from it, picturing everything from a Quidditch game to his most powerful Patronus. He focused on Dumbledore's image, then that of his friends, Remus, his parents, Sirius...

He woke with a harsh cry, scuttling backward until his back hit the wall, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gulps. An echo of Voldemort's laugh rang in his head. He reached for the lamp blindly, knocking it on its side before he managed to turn it on. When the light revealed his shabby bedroom, he could only hug his knees to himself and sob.

- - -


End file.
